


Is it possible that the birds cry and the moon fades when you are not there?

by pollycrevette



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: All of this is sad, Angst, Love, Lovers, M/M, Sad, Sad Beginning too, Sad Ending, bref, but they don't know they are, i don't spoil you, just read yuno, maybe kinda cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollycrevette/pseuds/pollycrevette
Summary: Bill had always loved to observe the rose drawn on his arm, but when the petals start to fall faster than expected, he doesn’t know what to do.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Kudos: 19





	Is it possible that the birds cry and the moon fades when you are not there?

It’s 8:45pm when Bill realizes it. The petals fall.

The cold night waits, outside, to take him in sleep. Vain illusion, Bill never sleeps. He never sleeps because he writes. He feels this need to transcribe his thoughts on paper. And he never feels it as much.

His arm tickles him. He doesn’t dare look again. Instead he continues to write. He has to keep busy to ain't feeling the fallen petals, because tonight more than usual, he needs to write. Writing about his feelings, writing about his pain, writing about all of this fucking day.

Here, behind his sleeve of his pajamas, marked on his skin, Bill sees someone die slowly, not knowing who he is or where he is. Without being able to help him. Someone important. Someone he could have had. His soulmate. And he cries.

He cries because even if he never met him, even if he never spoke to him, he loved him. He loved him so much, he dreamt him so much, that his heart broke at the same time as this rose engraved on his skin. And when the invisible friction on his arm stops, Bill doesn’t look. He doesn’t look because it would be accepted the truth, and damn, he’s not ready. He’s not ready to accept that his soulmate is dead and that he will never meet him; but also, that he just let a teenager die without having acted.

He feels pitiful.

He falls asleep on this feeling of despair and shame, and the pale moon seems to accompany him in his sadness.

\---------------------------------------

The next day, when Bill goes to find his father’s newspaper on the porch, he feels the need to look at it. When he looks down, he regrets.

“Another suicide in Derry: the body of Stanley Uris, 15 years old, was found dead at his home, when his parents were not there.”

His heart is beating faster, his blood is burning his body. He knows it’s him because he feels it.

He doesn’t read the article; he just returns the newspaper to his father before fleeing to his room.

Stanley Uris.

He writes that name in his notebook. One time. Twice. Thrice. It’s no longer clean, it’s fast and unbalanced.

He knew him. And he knew where he lived.

He feels more miserable.

He knew him, he knew where he lived, and he had done nothing.

His soulmate was Stanley Uris, he was dead, et Bill sat next to him every Thursday from 3pm to 4pm.

For one hour, every week, he watched his curly hair falling over his forehead, his blue eyes staring at the whiteboard, and his lips pursed in concentration.

Every Thursday, he would take out his stuffs to put them on his table, and Stanley would take them in hand to organize them properly on it.

Every Thursday, Bill would write stupid remarks in the corner of his sheet to make him laugh, because he knew he would read them.

Every Thursday, Bill would sketch him in his notebook, and like to feel him lean over his shoulder to look at his drawing.

Every Thursday, when the bell rang, Bill would tear the drawing out of his notebook and give it to Staley with a smile, then they would go off on their own side.

It hurts, to discover that the boy on who you crush cute was your soulmate, and that he was dead because you had done nothing to avoid it.

Bill could have known him so much.

Bill could have loved him so much.

He spent the day meditating on that.

\---------------------------------------

A few days later, Richie arrived at home at dawn. He looked upset, and crashed into his bedroom floor, a black bag on his shoulder, and a hood pulled up over his face. Even with the dim light in his office, Bill could see that his face was marked by tears.

After entering the room, he barely looked at Bill. He just went to put his bag on the desk, and quickly opened it. His hands were shaking.

Richie and Bill were friends, even good friends. Since Bill was part of the baseball team and spent most of his time with them (especially Mike and Ben), they didn’t hang out in high school any more, but he and the brown one used to go out in town a few times a week.

When Bill wasn’t with him, he saw him with Stan. It wasn’t a secret that Trashmouth Tozier and Stan the Man were best friends, inseparable friends. At least, enough separable by the curly one’s parents, who didn’t seem to appreciate their proximity. That’s why Stan was rarely there when Bill and Richie went out on the town. Not enough there. Never again there.

All the while, Bill was so close to his soulmate. He was close at hand, like a flower ready to be picked, and he had never understood it. He had never noticed that the moments when Stan was quietly quiet in class corresponded perfectly with the moments when the flower on his arm seemed faded. he had never noticed that the moments when Stan laughed cheerful corresponded perfectly with the moments when the flower on his arm sparked.

He looked at the other boy with sadness, seeing his shoulders trembled gently with restrained sobs. They were both devastated.

He didn’t move from his bed when Richie struggled with his cardboard pocket. He watched him silently sit next to him, and when Richie put what he was holding on the mattress, spreading out a thousand and one papers, Bill’s heart stopped.

“I found them in Stan’s room.” His voice was broken. “You signed them all, it was simple to know where they came from”

Bill swallowed his tears; he didn’t want to cry. He grabbed the leaves with his fingertips, touching the soft figure drawn there.

“I didn’t know you were so close.

_Neither do I…”

His voice surprised him himself. Bill traced every line of the Stan drawn. He still hadn’t rolled up his sleeve but felt the need to show it to Richie. To explain to him. He felt he had to justify him.

So he stretched out his arm, and lifted the fabric. The silence in the room grew heavy. Richie understood, as Bill did a few days ago.

In the silence of the room, he reflected.

He searched for a moment what could make him as happy as before.

Something other than Stan’s soft laughter in class, or the clarity of his smile when Bill would tell a joke.

He found nothing.

He just cried.

And the birds cried with him.


End file.
